Sweeney Todd And The Paddleball
by thefanficwriter
Summary: While pacing in his shop, Mr. Todd finds a strange plaything. Rated T for language. Oh yeah, and based on experience. 'Nuff said.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sweeney Todd, but I do have a copy of the movie. Then again, that doesn't count, doesn't it?

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**Sweeney Todd and the Paddleball**

He was alone today, and what a relief it was! Mrs. Lovett and the boy were both out at the market. The woman had been so persistent in asking him to come along with them, and usually he'd refuse and she'd argue with him until he'd finally agree. For a moment, he wondered what had made her not do so this day. Perhaps it was because she finally had Toby assist her in her errands so she no longer needed him? Or perhaps, she realized that he'd just be a downer since he never really listened to any of her chatter as they'd walk? Either way, Mr. Todd was glad that he was finally alone—alone at last, without the constant entrance and chattering of the baker from downstairs whom he so wishes to kill (which of course, he couldn't. Who'd hide his victims for him if he did?).

The day, however, had been extremely mundane without the baker's presence. There hadn't been any men coming to his shop, and he was craving to kill!

Oh, if only someone can come in from that door...

Just then, as he was pacing near the window as he had always done, he saw something from the corner of his eye—a wooden oval-shaped object with a round handle, which also appeared to have a rubber ball on a string attached to it.

Curious, he approached the chest near the door, where the object had been. As he picked it up and explored it, he remembered that it had belonged to a customer's son. The child must've forgotten it, thought the barber.

But what was _this_ foreign device—this _plaything_? For fifteen years he had spent his life in exile, in a hellhole which went by the name of Australia. Had times changed that much already? Had technology really advanced _this_ fast that he didn't even know it? What was this foreign plaything? A ball attached to a flat wooden board resembling that of a miniature tennis racket? What was this thing?

The barber's curiosity was eating him alive. Finally after a few moments of exploring the object it dawned on him! Perhaps you were supposed to let the ball hit the wood! Of course! That had to be it. Why else would a string be attached to it if that wasn't its purpose? The barber smiled proudly at himself for having fathomed the conundrum. Now for the real challenge—to test the strange device! What harm could it do? He was alone; the baker and her adoptive son were out at the market and there hadn't been a customer since noon. There wouldn't be a chance that he'd get embarrassed from being seen at this rate. After all, there hadn't been anyone coming in his shop.

The barber let the ball dangle freely from the wood, waiting for it to be still before trying to hit it. Then...

"DAMMIT!"

He did not expect this. How can this be? Why hadn't the ball bounced back? Sighing, he tried again the second time...

"ARGH!"

This _had_ to be a sham. What fool would want to even touch a device so defective? This thing was trying his patience. And _no one_ tries Sweeney Todd's patience—_no one_...

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"DAMN!"

"BLOODY HELL!"

"YOU FILTHY BITCH, YOU! HIT THE FUCKING WOOD, DAMMIT!"

_Boing-boing_... Ah, perhaps this device wasn't so defective after all. The ball was finally bouncing back. At his triumph, the barber smiled at himself. Ha! No one messes with Sweeney Todd, he thought. But then...

"FUUUUUUCCCKKK! WHAT IN HELL'S NAME IS WRONG WITH THIS THING?"

The barber sighed. You musn't let this fiend get to you, he reminded himself. This device shall not conquer!

"DAMMIT!"

"BITCH!"

"GRRRR..."

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! GET THE HELL UP THERE!"

The barber had been so engrossed in his task he didn't even hear the bell ring upon his door. And neither had he noticed that the man who has come for his services was no other than the Great Judge Turpin.

"The Beadle tells me you're—what are you doing?"

"GRRRRR..."

"Barber, do you hear me? I, Judge Turpin, have come to your tonsorial parlor for a shave!" the Judge declared, his chest puffed out proudly.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"I beg your pardon?"

The Judge, once again, received no response heeding his existence, other than the incoherent mumbling coming from the barber as he struggled with his paddleball.

"Barber, I will not have you treat me this way! Have you any idea how rude it is to ignore your customers, especially—" once again, he posed, puffing out his chest before continuing"—the Great Judge Turpin?"

Finally, the barber looked up to face the Judge, his eyes filled with rage.

"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, FATASS! I GET IT, YOU'RE A FUCKING NOBLEMAN! I'M BUSY HERE SO GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I SLIT YOUR BLOOMIN' THROAT!"

Appalled at the man's behavior, the Judge sniffed irritably. "Fine! I see how it is. I'm never coming back here again. Your service sucks."

"THEN GO! I DON'T CARE!"

Five hours later...

"YOU FIEND! NO ONE MESSES WITH SWEENEY TODD! NOW, FOOL, FEEL MY WRAAAAAAAAATH!"

"Mista T, wot's 'appened 'ere? 'Eared ya all th' way downstairs, I did!" asked Mrs. Lovett as she came into the shop.

She received no verbal response as usual from the barber. Instead, she found him standing in the middle of his shop, breathing heavily. He seemed to be staring contemptuously at something on the ground, and finally, she found the source of his rage. But wait—was that a _paddleball_? Sweeney Todd was getting angry over a paddleball? At the thought, Mrs. Lovett tried not to laugh. Heaven knows what he can do to her if she ridiculed him when he's in these types of moods. No wonder no one was coming in his shop today.

"Ya know, Mista T, it's quite simple really," she told him with a smile as she picked up the toy from the floor. "All ya 'ave ta do is be a little patient and you'll get it."

The barber watched as the baker made the ball bounce on the wood back and forth. His eyes widened—she could even do it sideways, up and down, and from behind her back!

"Would ya like to try again?" she asked him, still smiling.

He looked at the paddleball, then at her face, and the paddleball again.

"Keep that thing away from me," he replied quietly.

The baker had to fight hard to keep herself from laughing at that point.

"Alright then, love. Suit y'self. Where'd ya find this thing anyway?"

"On the chest," he answered, "a customer's son must've left it."

"Poor bugger," she said, "oh well. I'm sure Toby'll love this. Don't y' think, Mista T?"

The barber only grunted.

"Well, I'll be off now. Lotsa customers t' wait on, ya know."

"Show-off," he muttered under his breath, not caring whether or not the baker heard him as she walked out the door.

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So watcha think? This is my first attempt to write a Sweeney Todd fic =D This is basically a product of my boredom...after my many attempts at playing with a paddleball.


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